


walking towards the sound of your voice

by Anonymous



Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: Alternate Universe - Witchcraft, F/F, Lesbian Character, References to Depression, References to Norse Religion & Lore, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-10
Updated: 2019-12-10
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:20:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21739750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: “Lea was telling this story once,” Roxas says, spinning a leaf between two fingers. “There’s a swamp nearby at the edge of this forest. There’s this witch who can control people’s memories.”He smirks. “I heard she favors criminals.”(Or in which Xion runs from a mountain high pile of bodies in the back of her house, all bestowed her name.)
Relationships: Isa & Xion (Kingdom Hearts), Kairi & Xion (Kingdom Hearts), Lea & Roxas & Xion (Kingdom Hearts), Naminé/Xion (Kingdom Hearts)
Kudos: 7
Collections: Anonymous





	walking towards the sound of your voice

**Author's Note:**

> hello its the runaway/witch namixi au ive been talking about since feburary  
> \- i had to split it into 2 chapters because google docs legit kept crashing and i also wanted to post something before the new decade starts  
> \- i may come back to add in more details i forget because my brain is massive but forgetful  
> \- xion is a lesbian. you must know this. (also explains a certain scene)

##### I. PREAMBLE / NO RETURN

Her footsteps echoed around the lonely forest, the ringing sound of crushed leaves and kicked pebbles. The sun was beginning to set, the rays of purples and oranges barely through the leaved roof. It's beginning to get harder to see now; she acts as if she's been caught in Medusa's gaze when Xion begins to mistaken slender trees for bodies (because even nature will sell her at a drop of a dime).

She had been running off and on again since the morning’s wake with only the company of a compass that’s older than the forest trees and an outdated map, both of which she keeps checking in the paranoia of getting lost. But this venture was void of any strictness; the only instruction to go as the path takes her, freedom constricting her chest as it is both too much and none at all. Despite her anxiety, Xion trudges onward as her feet begin to sink into the wet ground and the accompanying air smells moist.

Where the edge of the ocean was a pirate’s definition of the end of the world, the southern area of Twilight Town’s forest was just about the same from the way the locals talked about it. They had warned of how the thick trees just before the swamp act like a barrier— “Consider it your final warning, just beyond is where she lies.”

Breaking past the barrier, the evergreens pull at her black cloak begging her to not go any farther. Their thorns dig into the edges of her worn leather cloak as she pushes through their blockade. To avoid getting trapped, she replaces her clothes with her hands instead. Unable to find a grip on her flesh, they leave their warnings marked in red. May the wild wolves find her scent; she’ll be long gone by then. Stained red thorns will mark her ingress, the spirit shall know she has arrived.

She leaves without looking back. The fog encloses behind her and like Xion herself was a spirit, all traces of her presence disappear.

-

##### II. HVERGELMIR

Hvergelmir is not forgiving; she makes you work for your entry and for your stay. Xion can barely breathe in the dense air. It sticks in her throat, crushing her organs and sneak its way into her skin where they make their presence known. The pain in her chest and ribs is almost unbearable.

She has to walk with knees raised high because with every step they try to make a claim on her. They want and want but Xion has nothing to give. Nature does not die hungry; she’ll build up and up.

There are whispers that follow her; some familiar, others not. She cannot make any of them out. They had said memories live here. Could one of those whispers be from another’s memory? Or all these echoes from her? She doesn’t know— her own life seems to be fraying around the edges.

Within the quiet talking swamp, a voice clearly stands out but not by volume though. It’s soft and almost nervous sounding. _“Do you know why they named her Hvergelmir?”_

Xion does not jump at the sudden intrusion nor is she confused. Rather she is comforted with a soft sigh of relief. “Yes,” She replies with her own whisper, scared that if she spoke any louder she’ll draw the spirit away, “He told me before I left.”

“ _Why did you still come here then?”_

“The others before me— they say this is where you can seek refuge.”

The voice does not speak but Xion hears her queries anyways: This is the final solution, not the first. They warn about this place, not advise. What things do you need to hide from that makes you seek here?

Xion does not answer to empty air; she had been taught to only answer questions that have been asked, not implied. She’ll only be wasting breath that she cannot afford when each is counted against her.

She looks down at her compass. Spinning around and around, the old thing is about to burst. Hvergelmir is directionless as the journey there was not— a place that only exists within myths, one that defies all rules of logic and nature. This place she has entered, it’s somewhere that does not exist in the real world. And seeking it out and entering, Xion is bound to end up the same.

The sound of the compass’s glass breaking echoes through the swamp without interruption.

-

##### III. PUPPET

She had been nicknamed “Puppet” by the other guardsmen. Labeled for her clumsy moves and clumsier mission results— she’s useless on her own. Targets slip through her watch like nectar through a sieve but never a word from her to how it could’ve happened. She could not even make up her mistakes in energy, too occupied with blurring vision and dizzying spells that are one step from becoming fainting curses.

(Higher-ups seer. “This is why you hire older recruits,” they say. “Never the ones that barely pass as an adult.”)

But she works if there’s someone’s eye on her, they noticed. They laughed; she’s a puppet! Worthless if not being controlled.

She had failed another mission.

When he seeks her out, Xemnas makes it no secret. She hears the way his armor clank together like a dull melody a wall away. The sound makes her heart jump in her throat. She wants to hide in the dark corners of the room; she’s the youngest out of all her coworkers, they jeer at her childish ways.

But she doesn’t hide. Instead, she moves to face him despite her feet moving as if she’s trudging through thick mud. She feels out of her own body.

He has the height that forces you to look up to him. Ideal, for such a high ranking swordsman. (It makes her reality swim as if the edges of her existence is dissolving.) “Disgrace,” Xemnas seers at her, “what shall your family think of such a lowly being? Your loyalty is thin.”

“I’ll let you know when I have one,” Xion says in a low tone, just as flat as her expressive. She will not let him see her weak. Childish or not, she can handle her emotions. Pleasant or not.

“Ah, yes.” He smirks and it runs shiver up her spine. Disgust fills her body that it almost breaks her; speaking to this man has always left her in ruins. “It has always been simple to have an empty ‘next of kin’ form. Keeps the hassle of having to deal with grieving relatives.”

Xion had always wondered how a man could be so cold, so heartless. He leaves and Xion allows herself to sit down and breathe, willing for the room to fade away. There’s no cure for weak knees— not until she experiences too much to be so shaken by a man who has never seen warmth.

When she opens her eyes, the forest meets her once again.

Her eyes go blind as she is suddenly reminded of where she is. It’s as if time had taken the wrong turn. Back in the future, back to the past, somewhere she has never existed before. Hvergelmir, awaken from her sudden gasp, steals the air in her lungs once again. Her heart pounds, jumping out of its cavity in her chest. Her heart hurts.

Her head feels light and her vision dizzy. She’s drowning by names she can’t remember and whispers she can’t make out. And somewhere in the distance, she faintly hears the echo of a melody. A song she can’t remember listening to before but knows the next note of.

As she falls, she fades into the background again.

-

##### IV. LEA

Someone grabs her by her bicep. They yank her up into a standing position so fast it hurts. Xion hisses and immediately starts rubbing her arm when the stranger lets go, checking for bruises.

“Tip: Don’t space out too much during lookout. Could’ve hurt yourself there.”

The stranger is a redhead who's spiky hair qualifies more as a weapon rather than actual hair. He stares her down, not in the cold way that Xemnas does that makes her sick, but in an aloof way. He probably thinks of her as useless too. She heard the other guards call her a punishment when they think she can’t hear them (or maybe when they know she can)— that if you slack off too much, expect to be assigned to play a puppet show.

(Maybe that’ll explain why she and Demyx are always assigned together.)

“Yeah— thanks,” Xion mutters.

“Name’s Lea. And starting today I’m your new partner.”

It’s pretty clear afterward that this new arrangement was not done willingly on Lea’s account. At least, in the beginning. But as the weeks pass by, Xion learns that she can’t get away with much under Lea’s watchful eye, so she tries to focus on her duty instead. Only then is when Lea begins to soften.

He buys her food because he worries too much about the way her ribs stick out, and he also introduces her to Roxas. Xion had already known _of_ Roxas, as he was the only fellow swordsman that was the same age as her. She wasn’t sure if he had ever even acknowledged her existence to himself before. She doesn’t want to know, honestly.

Behind his back, Roxas likes to joke about Lea’s parental attitude. Xion laughs and makes fun of his impossible height— “Perhaps if he tried, he could reach the sky,” She had told him once during an eventless mission. Roxas suggested that he could control the weather with a swipe of a hand.

Lea’s easy to joke about: the hair, the height, his worries, and the weird cloak he insists on wearing even on the hottest of days. His aloof attitude is worth as much as fool’s gold. But there’s one topic that they shouldn’t think about touching, Xion learns.

She sometimes sees Isa walking behind Xemnas. His dark hair that looks blue in the light stands out against everyone’s monotoned heads. Along with the scar running across his face— it makes him easy to remember. She doesn’t know everyone’s official rank (a bad idea, she should memorize it soon) but there’s no doubt Isa’s job as Second in Command to the Captain. Where Xemnas sneers at her, Isa’s coldness stems from neglect, refusing to even look at her.

But Lea doesn’t describe it like that. _His job is complicated,_ he excuses in a quiet voice. _He has to be careful; he can’t afford to make a mistake._

Xion always wanted to ask, _How much does it cost to even acknowledge me then? Am I the mistake here?_ But she keeps her mouth shut. She doesn’t dare ask because there are times when she catches Lea talking to Isa in dark corners before they disband silently. And every time Isa walks away, Lea has a look on his face as if he’s reaching for something he knows he can’t have.

Guardsmen are meant for battle— nothing more than honorable death and running blood. There’s no room for weak spots, they have to have their whole body covered in cold metal. The tale of Achilles’ heel was enough to warn.

She drowns in her guilt nightly with her heart misplaced in her mouth. Their kindness is undeserved; she shouldn’t be awarded for it for the betrayal she’s done, for the betrayal she will do.

“I can’t taint his title,” Xion whispers, “He has done too much for me.”

Their old wooden home whines in the night. “I had never asked you to do this for me.” Fingers softly brush hair behind her ear before landing on her shoulder. The touch makes Xion shiver. From where she looks down at Xion, sitting behind her on the small bed Xion lays on, Kairi smiles comfortingly. “We’ll figure a way out. Just… do what you need to do. Do what you wish.”

For how similar they look, there are always ways to spot a counterfeit portrait. With her darker hair and darker attitude, Xion is the shadow of Kairi.

“Things will turn out okay, you’ll see. Sleep for now.”

Xion almost laughed, almost cried. Instead, she lays still and continues going through the motions of living. She stays awake at night, too tired to move but she can’t stop focusing on how her blood rushes through her body. How could a guard raised in a group of thieves turn out all right? She has committed so many crimes, broken down her own morals. She lied to those she told she trusted and those whom she convinced they could trust her in return.

She’s living on an hourglass. Xion may be the shadow of Kairi but Kairi is the one who works in the shade.

And she keeps the light from choking the dark out— a sensitive balance, she is.

-

##### V. KAIRI

 _“Have you noticed?”_ A voice suddenly wakes Xion from where she lays in the dirt. _“Of how the memories are playing out?”_

Xion takes a minute to respond, trying to digest her surroundings. Hvergelmir’s choking environment is becoming familiar— it reminds her of drowning. She swallows thickly, processing the question.

Uncharacteristically, Xion almost snorts but it only comes out as a huff of air. How could she not? She should’ve known time would be nonlinear here also. Is she in the past right now? The future or present?

But then Xion thinks on it longer— the transition of the time is smoothing out, less jumpy than before. Maybe she is getting used to the sidewalk of memory lane. “It’s starting to feel like I’m living two lives at once.” It’s quite disconcerting. She cannot explain it in any other way of what it felt like.

When she heard of the witch’s bait she imagined it to be vivid, but now it’s beginning to feel like she’s dreaming with her eyes wide open.

The spirit sounds hesitant to ask. _“Is that why you left? The lying and stealing?”_

Would it make her a better person if it did? Would it restore the morality she had given up? Would it mend the trust she had broken? Maybe she should say it was, convince her and the witch. Maybe it truly was; Xion doesn’t remember the true reason to why she needed to leave— whose life she’s really saving. Maybe it was just for her own skin; maybe someone else was hung in her place.

But she’s tired, laying on the dirt in a whispering swamp and letting Hvergelmir eat her whole. “No, not really. I don’t know.” She answers honestly.

She’s surprised when the spirit speaks in a light-hearted tone. It reminds her of someone so vividly that her heart aches for them. _“Maybe I shouldn’t jinx it but…”_ The pause echos in the swamp, overlapping the whispers. The quietness makes Xion’s ears ring. _“You seem promising.”_

Xion sucks in a breath. Hvergelmir’s hands loosen around her throat; the air seems too clean and cold. She keeps breathing.

Her hands are freezing, the tips of her fingers red and numb. Her legs are covered by the earth and she doesn’t know if she has the energy to move them. It’s been hours, Xion realizes. Hours since she has entered this place. But the sky has not changed, there has not even been a single breeze. The night does not leave, perhaps morning does not exist at all. The world is stuck in a standstill.

Nature is hungry, Xion remembers. If she lays any longer, she’ll swallow Xion whole without any remorse.

She tugs herself out of the ground, pulling her weakened legs from the earth and rises up like how the dead can’t. She stands with exhaustion seeped into the depths of her bone marrow. Her cloak and boots are covered in mud and she reeks of the swamp’s smell. Xion stumbles through the slippery ground and tries to not trip over any tree’s roots.

One tree’s branches dip low, low enough that the leaves touch the ground. A name pops in her head. Willow trees— Xion remembers Kairi’s old friend had told her once while he brushed clingy leaves out of her hair. Back when she had let it grow long enough to tickle her upper thigh when she sat down.

She walks through them, the leaves washing around her like a curtain opening. They brush her hair but only a few are stubborn enough to stray. They don’t stick; her hair is too short and too straight. They fall right through.

_“Who was the girl?”_

Xion hums for a second. “Kairi? She’s my best friend.”

 _“You two… seem close.”_ The witch notes. Her tone is questioning but not to Xion, but to herself.

“She’s been in my life for as long as I can remember.”

_“Your memories— they’re shorter than the others. But you are not as young as the length suggests.”_

Her heart jumps to her throat. She had feared this— that she wouldn’t make it because of how few memories she has. Four years was never going to be enough, was it? Wasn’t enough for Xion, not enough for Hvergelmir. “Fourteen wasn’t kind to me. I was hoping—” She cannot keep the desperation out of her voice. “I was hoping that you’ll be able to unlock them.”

Even if it's a chance for Hvergelmir’s unheard compassion, Xion had always wanted to take it. Fill in the empty hole inside herself, a gaping tearing hole in her mind that never leaves.

When she doesn’t answer immediately, Xion takes it has a defeat. It is only when she’s wading through a knee-deep lake when the spirit finally speaks. _“I’m sorry. I can’t help you… She can’t seem to go beyond what you’ve brought.”_

Xion stops at where she is. Standing in the shallow lake that she can’t see the bottom of. How deep can this lake be? Can it swallow her whole? Enough to fill in those black holes inside her when it chokes her out? “It’s okay,” Xion says, and swallows down any lingering emotions that say otherwise.

_“I’m sorry.”_

Xion wishes she’ll stop apologizing. She should’ve expected this.

She breathes, she lives. Quiet chatter wraps themselves around her, pressing against her skin. They dig into her flesh, her mind. And below, her cloak has twisted itself around her legs. Xion can’t see where she and the lake separate; all a black mass under the water, too deep for the moonlight to shine through.

She steps forward and falls beneath the surface.

Underneath the earth, she feels at home in a way she never did in Twilight Town. Mother Nature takes her body and holds it; a welcome home. She is caressed into an absentee state, void of everything she once was. Nature takes her body, her breath, her name—

Her heart stops. In a rush of sudden panic, she kicks and flails her arms until she breaks the surface, gasping for air. She doesn’t want to be taken, not yet. Nature cannot reap her away; she is missing something of herself, something important.

“Hey, hey! It’s okay!” Someone hurries to comfort, coming in to hold Xion’s shoulder’s up. “It’s Kairi, remember? It’s me!”

She repeats the name; it feels foreign on her tongue. The bathwater has gone cold and the soap leaves a residue on her skin. Her skeleton is frozen and they scream in cracks when she moves like she has not moved in years. She has a death grip on the edges of the bathtub.

“Yeah, yeah, me. Kairi.” She breathes out in what could be a sigh of relief. “I’m glad I checked on you. You could’ve drowned… I mean, you did fall asleep, right?”

She doesn’t know what Kairi is hinting at nor does she remember entering the tub in the first place. She nods, not wishing to delve into whatever fantasy Kairi is playing inside her head. What she does know is that her heart is beating too fast and everything feels too real and solid. Her mind is jumping from place to place— too many holes in her memory to think clearly. She’s jumbled and disjointed. She tries to take a moment to calm down.

“Now that it seems you’re responsive, what’s your name?” Kairi asks while getting up to grab a towel from a basket nearby. “Well?”

Kairi hands her the towel. When Kairi turns around, she stands up and wraps herself in the towel. Too weak to do anything else, she sits on the edge of the tub. “I can’t… remember anything.” She confesses. Speaking is a challenge also.

For a moment, Kairi just stands there thinking. Then she settles herself next to her, careful to put a comfortable space between them. “Well… this isn’t ideal.” She’s almost wearing a pout. “Just your name? Or can you remember anything else?”

The other girl shakes her head. Her head is drawing a blank now— not even a thought is there to interrupt her mindless conscious. She doesn’t even know if she’s breathing anymore. Kairi sighs, dropping her head into her hands with her elbows resting on her knees.

Guilt births here, stemming from her frozen bones, her aching heart, and mindless conscious. “I’m sorry.” She says, her face burning.

Kairi perks up immediately. “No, no! This isn’t your fault at all! No apologies! Don’t be sad!” She waves her hands around, flustered. “You should rest. Maybe you’ll remember something else when you aren’t so tired.”

Kairi’s right. She can feel the way her body drags down under her exhaustion. She looks at the flowers outside; White Forget-Me-Nots dance in the wind from the pots they live in. They’re the wrong color.

The thought puzzles her. How could a flower be the wrong color?

Kairi lights up suddenly. “You were muttering something when we found you!” She slaps the sides of her head. “Ugh! Hold on, I know it was—! It was… Xion! You were muttering Xion! Maybe that’s your name?!”

“Xion…” She repeats. It feels like something sliding in her, clicking right into place. But the procedure is messy and unorthodox; the doctor is wrong, the tools aren’t the same, the room isn’t what it should be. It’s right nonetheless. “My name is Xion.”

Kairi looks ecstatic either way. She laughs, “There we go! A name! That’s a good sign, maybe you’ll remember more tomorrow.”

“Maybe.” Xion looks down at her lap. Shouldn’t she feel the same excitement Kairi feels? Why doesn’t she?

But she does feel something— gratitude. Enough to make her want to cry. Is a name that important to her? Enough for this overflowing thankfulness? “Thank you, Kairi.” She forced herself to mumble out. “I’ll repay you somehow, someday, for what you’ve done for me.”

Kairi looks at Xion confused. “No need— I didn’t do anything.”

But there is a need, Xion thinks. This means so much more to me than you know, more than what I know. Xion nods her head either way, but she still vows to pay her dues.

“C’mon, you need some clothes.” Kairi heads for the door but turns to lean against the threshold for a moment. “The others have been wondering about you too. I’ll try to explain but still expect to be asked a lot of questions.” She.holds her hand out.

Xion looks outside once more, at the wrong colored Forget-Me-Nots. The white flicker in and out of the shade. If she focused hard enough, they look a faint blue— to her at least.

She grabs Kairi’s hand and walks through the threshold.

The wall of leaves breaks for her entrance. There’s a sudden weight added to her— her clothes soaked and cemented to her skin. She moves stiffly, stumbling along on the mud and puddles. Her boots make a wet noise with every step. Any warmth from that memory of Kairi fades away; the sudden drop of temperature makes her heart skip a beat and leaves her desperately grasping for her next breath.

 _“Your name is Xion…”_ The voice acknowledges but she speaks so low that it barely stands out from all the ghosts haunting around her. _“Why do you think memories are so important?”_

Xion doesn’t hesitate to answer, she has always known this. “They make us up. It— they complete us.”

_“You don’t have most of your memories.”_

Xion has to stop herself from flinching. Her tone is not mean, she means well. An observation. But Xion knows all too well that she is incomplete. They call her Puppet, she was always as empty as one. “I don’t. Not really.” The wound is not fresh but it’s open— bleeding freely, she’s sure to die of infection.

Her prologue is written in inked words she wants to erase. But as much as she tries to forget, she had woken on the edges of the lake near death, spread across the dirt like a puppet whose strings were cut. Born again a broken toy in Kairi’s bathroom with no name staring at the wrong colored flowers. Once, she had been at peace with the fact that she had been born anew; free from the weight of the past.

(But now as time progresses and the more and more her beginning becomes her past— _oh,_ how weightless she had once been.)

There’s something crawling under her skin. “What is your name?” Xion asks, desperate to move on from herself. It was a topic she never liked very much.

When the disembodied doesn’t reply, her silence makes itself known even though all the hushed chatter. There’s cotton in Xion’s ears, she fears that she made a mistake. No one is supposed to chase after her— he said it is suicide to do so. Even with all the noise that never leaves, Xion can’t help but feel alone.

But she returns. _“You’re complete to me. Memories— as important as they are —can always be remade. Even from scratch.”_

Xion’s face cracks into a tiny smile. Somewhere deep in her body, something like warmth blooms. “Thank you.”

-

##### VI. ROXAS

They’re assigned lookout again.

“They’re” being Xion, Roxas, and Lea— they’ve become an infamous trio within the ranks. Being the oldest of the three by a decade, Lea is often jokingly called their father at times. He doesn’t bother correcting anyone anymore, instead takes the nickname to heart.

“Start paying attention or no dessert for both of you,” Lea says, pointing his clean ice cream stick at them. “I’m not in the mood of getting my ass yelled at tonight.”

They’re standing in a claustrophobic hallway made out of stone brick and hanging portraits on the walls. It’s considered an emergency exit, a backdoor of sorts, so the staff seems to neglect the area. It’s so dusty that Xion has to stop herself from sneezing every minute.

“Why would they assign us for this?” Roxas complains. “Isn’t this guy someone the higher-ups should deal with. I mean! Assigning us to protect the visiting royals? They’re asking for war.”

 _The guy,_ an assassin who’s been killing off high officials for the past few months. Difficult to trace, difficult to predict. When assigned, Xemnas said he wasn’t likely to strike at such a risky event but if he does— time to put your training into use before it’s too late.

“Hey, hey. Don’t talk like that. You got me and you should know I’m incredible at my job.” Lea says smugly.

“Yeah, if your job was sitting around and setting things on fire,” Xion mutters to Roxas, who snorts so loud it echoes down the hall.

“Ouch,” Lea says monotonously. “I heard that you know. Way to hurt your father’s pride.”

Xion is quick to wave them off. She can’t explain it but there’s a dread that won’t leave tonight. A feeling that when she focuses too much on, it makes her hands shake and heartbeat so loud in her ears.

“Hey,” Roxas grabs her forearm gently, “don’t worry. I doubt this guy’s stupid enough to come tonight. I mean— they got nearly everyone on the job. You’ll be okay.”

Xion knows Roxas is right. His hand is grounding. His words bring little comfort but it’s enough to calm her down.

“Now I know we love lazing around but we do have a job to do!” Lea interrupts, clapping his hands. “Xion takes left hall, Roxas right. I’ll stay here and watch the door.”

She doesn’t have to look at Roxas to know he’s giving Lea a tired look and mumbling about how unfair the arrangement is. Xion takes off before anyone could say anything else, hand on the handle of her sword.

It takes only a few minutes of walking to bore her. And then it takes only a few wrong turns in the maze of hallways for her to become annoyed. The constant sound of her uncomfortable shoes tapping against the stone with no other simulation makes her ears hurt.

It’s only until she takes another wrong turn, going deeper into the castle, that she hears something new. A hiss of a man. Xion knows that no one else is supposed to be down here, especially down these hallways, which only served the purpose of confusing invaders back when there were war invasions instead of assassinations.

Her hands clench around the handle of her sword. She steps closer to the sound, careful to make her steps light and soundless. Her breathing is so loud in the silence.

She ducks behind a wall, peering around the corner to watch a man crouched beside a dug out hole. He’s holding his arm which is bleeding profusely, hissing through clenched teeth. ”Shit, shit, _shit_.” He curses, “fucking wolves.”

Her stomach drops before rising to her throat and she has to stop herself from vomiting right there. But Xion can’t stop herself from gasping. He turns towards her and before she can do anything— flee or fight —he has his dagger out and it’s crashing down towards her.

She scrabbles out of the way, wincing at the sound of the metal hitting the bare stone. She pulls herself up into a standing position. _Use your training, use your training, use your training,_ Xion chants in her head. There’s blood rushing through her ears. She can barely feel her body.

He swings and she tries to grab his arm but underestimates his strength. She is pushed to the wall, knocking her head painfully against it. Something wet drips down somewhere on her head and she’s too overwhelmed to dissect where. It takes her a moment to bare her surroundings again.

She grabs her sword but he’s charging towards her again. He knocks her down to the hard ground. Xion twists her arm up painfully to block fast enough to stop the dagger from stabbing her throat.

But the arm she blocked is injured. He gasps in pain, backing off enough for her to make a grab for her sword with her other hand. She uses all her strength to push him up and rushes her sword upwards.

There’s a choke, a gurgle in the throat, blood, a drop of a body.

There’s an infinite sky above her, a stoned ceiling— dust and dirt swirling in the air. A cold breeze and still air.

The edge of her sword is covered in blood, there is no sword in her hand. Her heart stops, the world stops. She’s on the ground and there’s a body convulsing next to her, flickering in and out of her eye view. They’re laying on the dirt with mud tracks all over her clothing; they’re laying on the stone brick ground covered in blood. The moon is there, staring her down with a glow— the moon’s gone and she’s staring at herself.

There are whispers, there is a man struggling to breathe, there is a disembodied voice echoing all around her.

_“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry—”_

Xion doesn’t know if it’s her that's making the chant or another. She’s shaking and the world keeps glitching. There’s a body rotting somewhere. Is it her? Is she dying also? Is she breaking at the seams?

Now she’s lying under a tree, the sun’s light shining through the leaves and into her eyes. She’s not in the mud ridden cloak or her armor, but the clothes she wears at Kairi’s home. There’s no dirt nor blood on her but she still feels so, _so_ , filthy.

A breeze blows through, Roxas appears without a sound, like a ghost and Xion is the unfortunate bastard who bought the house. He’s carrying a metal— the fabric twisting in the air. The face shows itself, _“Honored Soldier.”_

Not guard, Xion notes, _Soldier_. The difference stretches Xion thin, makes her sick to her stomach. She feels like an item polished by unknown hands and put on display; an Honorable Soldier, she is called in front of thousands.

“You forgot this,” Roxas tries to hand her the medal. When Xion doesn’t make a grab for it, he sighs and pockets it in his pants. He stares at her, spread out across the grass with her strings cut, for a minute. He settles down next to her.

“What are you doing, Xion?” Roxas asks but in a way that makes it clear he’s not expecting an answer.

Xion answers anyways because she feels like if she doesn’t she’ll meld into the ground, into the nonlinear timeline she finds herself in. Days have passed, weeks put into graves without her noticing. “I don’t know.” It’s nothing more than a whisper; she can’t bring herself to be any louder.

(This isn’t their first bloody mission. Once she had spent countless nights beside his bed, hearing his shallow breathing and feeling the faint heartbeat under her fingers. She remembers the stitches across his chest, inches from his heart. They had thought he was dead when Lea found him.

Is that what they had thought when they found her lying there, stiff and covered in someone else’s blood? She was never tried, never punished. They saw the corpse of a criminal and said, _Thank God, burn the body. Don’t let him know the peace of a marked grave._ They never considered her a murderer. She wished they had, she wished she was the body burning.)

“Why did they give me that, Roxas?” Her voice cracks. “Didn’t they know it was a murder? That he was injured? He didn’t need to die. Why did they reward me for it?”

Roxas does nothing but lay next to her. He doesn’t know what to say; he doesn’t know anything. It isn’t his place to say anything. He wasn’t there.

They lay there for what feels like years. Xion can’t stop thinking about how there’s a body rotting somewhere, apart of a meal to the animals. Becoming apart of the soil and flowers— becoming a slumber Xion has never known before. Maybe something in her is also rotting; she hasn’t felt in body since that day.

The tension is too thick. Xion doesn’t know if Roxas has ever acknowledged before Lea introduced them but at this moment, she hopes he does right now. That he speaks up and breaks the mindless survival Xion finds herself in.

 _Please_ , Xion thinks, _say something. I don’t want the silence anymore or the praise— I don’t want the pity glazes or the proud ones. Say something harsh, something real—_

“Lea was telling me this story once,” Roxas spins a leaf between two fingers. It’s fall; it crumbles with every twist. “There’s a swamp nearby at the edge of this forest.” He glances at her, watching her face. When she doesn’t say or do anything, he continues. “There’s this witch who can control people’s memories. Erase and make, you know?”

Then he smirks. “I heard she favors criminals.”

It’s such a bad joke, such an inappropriate joke. _Criminal_ grinds down on her, melds her into something she knows she is. “I could use a visit right about now.” Xion can’t stop herself from giggling. It sounds like she’s choking.

She stiffens when she feels Roxas’s fingers on top of her head but relaxes when he begins to run them through her hair. It’s a choppy cut— done in the late hours when she didn’t have a mirror to check her progress —but it’s about the freest thing Xion has done in years.

Is it all right for her to live like this? For Roxas to run his fingers through her head like she’s a child rather than a murderer?

“Erase this entire month.” Roxas agrees. “And maybe erase the memory of you hitting on that girl with really bad puns.”

Xion tries to kick Roxas. “Dick.”

Suddenly, Roxas sits up and bears his face down to her. He’s too close, staring at her. Studying her. It makes her panic in a way she thought she’ll never feel around him; the cold feeling that curls through her ribs, hurt her chest, makes her sick. She wants to push his face away, tell him to stop looking at her and to never acknowledge her again.

She doesn’t.

He taps her forehead. “Stop thinking so much.”

He backs away. They don’t talk about it— the murder or Xion’s hiccuping sobs, her regret spilling in the morning dew. They don’t talk about a lot of things after that.

-

##### VII. WITCH

Just out of her reach, is the memory of sunlight streaming through the leaved roof of the forest outside Kairi’s home. The memory of crumbling leaves, fingers twisting and running through her hair and the faint smell of autumn. The memory burns into Xion— burns from her eyes into her skin and into her heart. Just outside of her reach is her comfort and nature’s calm. (Despite her hunger, she had always given Xion a sense of comfort in the quiet moments.)

There is no breeze in Hvergelmir; there is no comfort or Roxas’s fingers running in her choppy hair. Her cloak drags her down but she refuses to get rid of it. She has spent too much time in this nighttime shade; exposing any more skin, this swamp will be sure to stain her.

Hvergelmir may not be as known as her rival myths but she is just as harsh. Her heart beats in sync with Xion’s, pounding in the quiet corners of her conscious. The double beat of a heart of the land and the heart of a human being, it drives Xion into a dissociating spell.

These small moments of her life, moments with Kairi, Lea, and Roxas playing out with seemingly every step, does not help her grab her bearings. It digs her grave farther and farther down, farther and farther away from reality. Xion has no choice but to drown in Hvergelmir’s blood.

Within the red hues of the swamp’s blood, just out of her reach, there is sunlight streaming through a forest’s green roof outside a home. There is a box playing music in rhythm to a dancing toy ballerina. Leaves passing through her, around her. Fingers cannot touch her; she has no presence, no body to grab or hold gently. There’s Forget-Me-Nots surrounding her— all the right color of blue, holding her down not in a chokehold but a cradle. And near, a girl with sun dyed hair draws of what Xion could look like.

The sunlight dies into black. There is no girl who wishes she could hold Xion’s face in a gentle cradle. The flowers fade from existence and the ballerina stops dancing. The forest bears a loneliness Xion can barely handle, tearing her from the inside out.

What in her visions is real? Which is fake? How much has Hvergelmir taken from her? What soft flesh has she not bitten down on yet?

There’s another long interval before the next encounter. This time, it is not memories or visions but a now-familiar voice echoing across the swamp.

_“You had asked for my name once— I never answered. I’m sorry.”_

The apology makes Xion stumble and look around as if the spirit will suddenly appear. She makes a confused sound. “But you don’t owe me anything. Not even a name.”

She laughs in response but Xion feels no humor in it. Devoid of the light-hearted she has once heard, the voice continues: _“So they call me a witch.”_

She hesitates to reply but after the silence pause starts to become overdue, she quietly agrees.

 _“I don’t blame them. All the people that visited before… I can see why they would see this place as cursed.”_ She begins to sound nervous. _“But, I feel the need to tell you I’m not the one who controls the memories. At least not in that way.”_

“How then? If you don’t mind me asking.” Xion pulls on her hood. Curiosity is what they had always belittled her for. But they call her witch and Xion believes nothing is lonelier than to live in a life in other’s memories.

 _“Yes, I can control memories. Create, erase. But this is Hvergelmir’s doing. She… borrows my ability to do so. She cannot create or erase herself.”_ She struggles to word her next sentence. _“If I were to leave, Hvergelmir wouldn’t— this place wouldn’t be a curse if it weren’t for me.”_

There’s a flash of anger deep inside her, it’s source unknown but plentiful. “That isn’t true,” Xion says with a strong tone. “It isn’t you that is using your ability to hurt people. It’s Hvergelmir. You wouldn’t do this.”

The spirit giggles, _“You remind me of someone.”_

“Who?”

_“I’m not sure. I can barely remember any details about them, not even a name. I never thought about them until you showed. Maybe they were a person I knew once before he took me here.”_

Xion is left puzzled in more ways than one. For all the questions running through her head, she asks, “He?”

_“Um, this boy I used to know. He was sort of an older brother figure for me. He said he wanted to protect me. He was supposed to come with but… I don’t think he was able to escape.”_

“...I’m sorry.” Xion doesn’t know what else to say. The air is tense with mourning. “Who were you running from?”

_“Uh, do you know of Radiant Garden?”_

“Yeah.” It’s one of the major towns nearby— one of the oldest too. It was one of the last places to keep their royal hierarchy, which was only unestablished when it started dripping into tyranny. It’s said to only harbor light and goodwill now, despite it’s past of evildoing. A town made for scholars and travelers; gifts of knowledge were a daily occurrence.

(Xion had dreams of visiting. She would always save her vacation days and pack her bags. And every time, she would make it to the edge of Twilight Town before she would head back, feeling like she’s leaving something behind. Twilight Town has a leash on her, drawing her right back to where she woke.)

 _“Beneath Radiant Garden, there’s a lab the royal scientists use. They were… investigating the supernatural surrounding the world. It was supposed to be a secret but I guess it wasn’t as big as a secret they tried to make it, if you’re here.”_ She pauses. _“This man, one of the scientists, had given me two names: the first, Naminé; and when he found out about my power, witch.”_

“...He’s wrong, you know. You aren’t a witch.” Xion presses, hoping those words alone will convince her. “You’re Naminé to me. Only Naminé.”

Naminé doesn’t answer.

In the quiet requiem, replaying memories she once lived or memories she doesn’t know if they’re even hers, a whisper stands out among them. _“Some days, it’s hard to tell which is my true name.”_

**Author's Note:**

> Hold onto your voice. Hold onto your breath. Don't make a noise, don't leave the room until I come back from the dead for you. I will come back from the dead for you. This could be a city. This could be a graveyard. This could be the basket of a big balloon. Leave the lights on. Leave a trail of letters like those little knots of bread we used to dream about. We used to dream about them. We used to do a lot of things. Put your hand to the knob, your mouth to the hand, pick up the bread and devour it. I'm in the hallway again, I'm in the hallway. The radio's playing my favorite song. Leave the lights on. Keep talking. I'll keep **walking toward the sound of your voice.**
> 
> — [You are Jeff,](http://youngerpoets.yupnet.org/2008/04/17/you-are-jeff-crush-by-richard-siken/) Richard Siken


End file.
